Chapter 1
1519 Malin Galaxy Standard
The elevated mag-train slid into Ciabor Memorial Station with a whisper, its underside humming against the cold metal tracks, the faint sound of electro-magnetics cutting through the damp air. Outside, the dome’s engineered climate seemed to falter. A biting wind swept across the platform, dragging with it erratic flurries of snow that swirled like ghostly fragments before melting into dark streaks on the polished floor. This was not the VulMun anyone was used to—where weather was a controlled spectacle, always deliberate, never chaotic. The cold wasn’t just unusual; it was unsettling.
A triad of chimes echoed crisply through the arriving platform and the mag-train’s carriages, announcing the stop with automated cheerfulness. Simon Hadarr adjusted the collar of his coat, his breath puffing into the air in soft clouds as he rose from his seat. He smoothed the lapels of his coat, a practiced motion, and stepped onto the platform as the doors parted with a soft whoosh, releasing a stream of commuters.
For a moment, Simon lingered, his eyes sweeping the crowded platform. A sea of humanity bustled before him, bodies swathed in coats and scarves, clutching steaming cups or shoving gloved hands deep into pockets. The usual hum of energy radiating from the station’s systems was dampened, replaced by the occasional sharp whistle of wind that found its way through the station’s open edges. It carried a chill that bit deeper than it should have, nipping at exposed skin and making the workers shuffle a little closer in line, seeking any warmth they could find.
Simon’s pleasant smile held steady as he strode forward into the full view of the security cameras and waiting guards. He moved purposefully, not hurried but confident, the kind of pace that implied he belonged here. Ahead, the checkpoint was its usual bottleneck of controlled chaos.
A long line of shivering workers stretched along the wall: scientists clutching datapads like shields, clerks murmuring through chattering teeth, janitors dragging frost-dusted tool kits, cafeteria workers clutching flimsy, company-issued jackets. Even the guards looked miserable, their uniforms bulked up with thermal vests, their breaths fogging in the chill air. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering occasionally, as if even they felt the strain of this uncharacteristic weather.
Simon slid into line, badge in hand, his expression neutral but approachable. The workers shuffled along, stamping their feet against the creeping cold. Ahead, the checkpoint gates gleamed cold and impersonal, the scanners’ blue glow casting shadows that danced across the tired faces of those waiting.
At the first security gate, Jae-Yoon stood, a familiar figure even bulkier under the layers of his gear. His gloved hands were tucked under his arms, his breath curling visibly with every exhale.
“Morning, Jae-Yoon,” Simon greeted warmly as he stepped forward, his voice cutting through the low hum of the checkpoint.
Jae-Yoon’s face lit up despite the frost hanging in the air. “Good morning, Doctor Hadarr! Hell of a day, huh? This weather—crazy. But the Polar Jets are up ten points in the league. That helps.”
Simon pressed his badge to the scanner, the beep of clearance cutting through the faint din. The holographic tape in front of the speed gate shifted from yellow to green, inviting him through. “I told you it was their year,” Simon said, stepping forward. “How’s In-Su doing? Did he take that test yet?”
Jae-Yoon straightened a little, his grin broadening. “Ninety-eight percent! Proud doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
Simon paused, his own breath curling in the cold air. “Your hard work’s paying off. I’d better watch my job.”
Jae-Yoon chuckled, shaking his head. “I think you’ve got a while yet.”
Simon chuckled softly in return, already turning to disappear down the corridor lined with scanners. His footsteps echoed lightly, swallowed by the low rumble of distant trains and the muted hum of machinery. The cold lingered, an unwanted guest that refused to leave, creeping into every corner of the station.
As he moved deeper into the labyrinthine corridors of Ciabor Memorial, Simon’s thoughts shifted, the smile fading just enough to reflect the weight he carried. The dome wasn’t supposed to falter like this. Snow? Wind? This wasn’t an anomaly—it was a warning. A harbinger of something, though what, Simon wasn’t sure. He pulled his coat tighter as another sharp gust found him, the icy fingers of the storm clawing through even the most insulated corners of the station. It wasn’t just the weather that felt out of place. Something else lingered, just beneath the surface, as if the dome itself was holding its breath.
The end of the hallway loomed with its series of retina and bioscan booths like silent sentinels. Simon entered the booth, the door hissing shut behind him. Cold beams of light swept over him, front and back, the soft buzz of the scanners threading through the silence. The device paused, zeroing in on his right eye. A moment later, the lock released with a gentle click. The stoic technicians stationed nearby didn’t even glance up. They never did.
Stepping out, Simon adjusted the strap of his satchel and continued down another gray corridor. The muted hum of fluorescent lighting and the faint whir of unseen machinery followed him. At the top of a gated escalator, rows of turnstiles equipped with fingerprint scanners awaited. He pressed his finger to the scanner, and a pleasant chime confirmed his identity. The turnstile’s arms retracted, allowing him to pass.
The next checkpoint featured a line of metal tables where security guards, clad in dark uniforms and gloves, conducted bag inspections. Simon approached one of the guards, who looked up and grinned.
“No sandwich today, Doctor Hadarr?” Blake asked, his tone light as he unzipped Simon’s satchel.
Simon shook his head, feigning exasperation. “Miss Pock has me at her mercy again.”
Blake chuckled, rifling through the bag with practiced thoroughness. “Guess that means I’m eating well today.”
“Let her know I skipped breakfast. Might inspire her to be extra generous.”
Blake returned the bag with a wink. “Consider it done. Tartarus Above All, Doctor.”
“Tartarus Above All.” Simon forced the words with a pleasant smile for the cameras. A mask, always the mask.
The automatic doors to the Research and Development Department slid open with a soft whoosh. Guards stationed on either side of the entrance gave him a perfunctory nod as he entered. Beyond lay a maze of hallways lined with frosted glass and steel panels, the antiseptic hum of the facility a constant backdrop. He finally reached his department, stepping into a space alive with quiet focus. Massive windows on the far wall revealed a rain-streaked view of VulMun’s domed skyline, its neon brilliance muted by the storm outside.
At the central desk, his team worked at their consoles, holographic lattices spinning and morphing in mid-air as they refined calculations and tinkered with designs. Simon allowed himself a moment to observe them, a glimmer of pride tugging at the corner of his mouth. Best minds in the galaxy, he thought.
Hanging up his jacket in his small office, Simon pulled on his lab coat and headed back to the lab floor. Before he could speak, the loudspeakers crackled to life, and Supervisor Kiril Wasak’s voice blared across the facility.
“Hadarr, my office, now.”
The tranquility shattered, Simon sighed. Here we go again.
Kiril’s office was as overstuffed as the man himself, a shrine to excess. A plush leather chair supported his bulk, and his desk was cluttered with flickering holo-tablets projecting streams of encrypted noise. Kiril barely looked up as Simon entered, his fingers tapping agitated rhythms against the desk.
“Simon, can you tell me what I’m looking at?” Kiril jabbed a sausage-like finger toward one of the projections.
Simon tilted his head, feigning ignorance. “From this angle, it looks like fuzz.”
Kiril’s face darkened. “Of course it looks like fuzz. Do I look like I have time for jokes? Omega hasn’t submitted a single contribution to the power management system. This entire project is a disaster waiting to happen, and I’ve got to answer for it in front of the Chief of R&D.”
Simon remained calm. “Omega isn’t assigned to power management. They’re focused on shielding.”
Kiril’s nostrils flared. “Then who the void is working on power management?”
“No one,” Simon replied, his tone level. “We need finalized requirements first. Power distribution comes after we know what we’re distributing to.”
Kiril’s glare could have melted steel. “I don’t care. Pull someone from another team and whip up a mock-up. I need something to show. And you—projections on my desk by the end of the day. If we keep falling behind, you’re the one getting demoted.”
Simon offered a curt nod. “Understood.”
Kiril waved him away, already turning back to his chaotic display of holo-tablets.
Descending the metal stairs back into the lab, Simon rubbed the bridge of his nose. His team deserved better than this relentless pressure. Stopping at the edge of the floor, he took a moment to observe them—focused, brilliant, and tired.
“Morning, everyone,” he called, his voice cutting through the quiet hum. Heads turned. “Let’s take five. Meeting room in a few. We need to catch up.”